


He Wears It Well (That Uniform)

by eledhwenlin



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Future Fic, M/M, Married Sex, Uniform Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-15
Updated: 2013-08-15
Packaged: 2017-12-23 14:41:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/927701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eledhwenlin/pseuds/eledhwenlin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Stiles comes home, Derek's sitting at the kitchen table in his uniform. Stiles is not mentally prepared for this. Sex ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Wears It Well (That Uniform)

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for my my kink bingo square _uniform/military kink_. 
> 
> Many thanks go to inspiredlife for the beta. <333

When Stiles comes home, Derek's sitting at the kitchen table in his uniform, gun and walkie-talkie lying to his right. Stiles is not mentally prepared for this. He's just worked ten hours trying to find out who's been stealing Mrs Groczek's garden gnomes—he can't be picky about jobs, okay, he's gotta earn money, being a private eye isn't easy when half your cases involve the supernatural, and this was supposed to be an easy job, but then, as usual, it turned out that it's not dumb teenagers doing some run-of-the-mill vandalism and shit, no, it's like pixies or faes or shit, Stiles doesn't know yet. He does know that he's read enough today to make his eyes and brain hurt, and his defences are low, okay?

And then there's Derek, uniform rumpled after a long shift, hair dishevelled, looking tired and yet smiling at Stiles coming in, and Stiles gives up. He throws his hands in the air, "I didn't use to have a uniform kink before you became my dad's fucking deputy."

Derek, the asshole, grins and stretches. He knows very well what that does for his shoulders and Stiles feels the need to drop to his knees right the fuck now. "I didn't know I was hired as deputy to fuck people."

"Dude," Stiles says.

"Don't dude me, Stiles." But Derek scoots his chair back when Stiles approaches and turns a little to the side, making it easier for Stiles to reach for him.

"All the women drive too fast, hoping that you'll be the one to fine them," Stiles says as he grabs Derek's uniform shirt.

"Careful, if you rip it, you'll have to explain to your dad why I'm going through more shirts than the other guys combined."

Stiles crowds Derek, relishing how Derek doesn't give him one inch. "He'll understand," he says. "Hi."

Derek laughs. "A bit late for niceties, isn't it?"

"You and your stupid uniform," Stiles mumbles against Derek's neck. "For most of my life, those uniforms only made me feel safe and then you had to come along."

"I could leave," Derek says, his breath catching.

"No, you couldn't," Stiles says before he kisses Derek. They bought a fucking house together, Cora's coming by for movie night that weekend, they have a standing Sunday lunch appointment with the Sheriff and alternating Saturday dinners with Scott and Allison and Isaac, although Stiles doesn't pretend to fully understand how that works, except that it does and he's happy for the three of them. 

Derek pulls Stiles close, his hands slipping underneath Stiles's shirt. "Do we want to rechristen the kitchen?" 

Stiles turns his head, to look at the kitchen table. That it bares his neck to Derek is totally coincidental. It doesn't have anything to do with knowing that it drives Derek crazy and, yep, that's Derek leaving a hickey on Stiles's neck, like they're teenagers who have to prove something, nope, it's just because he has to evaluate the sturdiness of their table (it's very sturdy; they fucked on it more than once). 

But Stiles feels the exhaustion in his very bones. He knows that as soon as he'll come, he'll crash and hard at that (no pun intended). He'd rather not have to navigate the stairs up to their bedroom then. 

"Bedroom," Stiles says. 

Derek licks the new mark and nods. "Just let me lock up my gun."

Stiles pulls Derek in once more. "Keep your uniform on," he says.

The grin Derek gives him in return is downright feral. "Wouldn't dream of getting rid of it."

By the time Derek follows Stiles upstairs, Stiles is halfway out of his clothes.

"My, my, what do we have here?" Derek steps up close from behind. "A half-naked burglar?"

Stiles shivers, the fabric of Derek's uniform starched and unforgiving against his skin. "No, officer," he says. "Just a guy who needs his husband right the fuck now."

Derek kisses Stiles's nape, letting his fingers gently glide over Stiles's skin. "I think I can agree to that."

Stiles snorts. He turns around and pushes Derek toward the bed. "Don't front," he says. "I know you've been thinking about my mouth all day long."

"Oh, indeed?" Derek grins as he drops down and leans back on his elbows. "Strange, I can't remember that."

"I know," Stiles says, as he leans in, "because I have it on authority that my mouth was the first thing you noticed about me." Derek stills as Stiles drops to his knees. "It drives you crazy," Stiles continues leisurely. 

"Are you actually going to do anything with it?" Derek sounds harsh, which means he's turned on. Stiles grins as he ducks his head and bites down on the zipper. This skill has taken veritably years to develop, but by now Stiles is sort of good at this. 

"You are a menace," Derek says. Stiles has heard these words many times before, from various people, but he loves the way Derek says them—half in awe, more than a little turned on, and if you listen closely, you'll even hear the _love you_. 

Stiles replies by burying his face in Derek's open zipper. There's not much he can do like that, but he can feel Derek's cock through the boxer-briefs Derek's wearing, hard and firm against his lips. He breathes on it a couple of times.

Derek drops on his back, groaning. "You're a health hazard."

"You're welcome," Stiles says as he straightens up so he can pop the button. 

"Can I order you to suck my cock already?" Derek muses. 

"That would be sexual harassment," Stiles replies. "Nope, sir."

The uniform pants feel rough against Stiles's skin compared to the silky-soft briefs. Stiles tugs at them until Derek lifts his hips. Stiles wishes that Derek would go commando, just so that opening his pants would be enough already. Stiles loves the feeling of the zipper digging into chin, the fabric scratching against his cheeks as he sucks Derek's cock down. Instead Stiles just pushes the pants low enough that Derek's cock springs free.

He can't suppress a moan and has to pull off. Derek's lying there, shirt crumpled, his cock jutting out of his open pants, and he looks like porn come to life. "Fuck," Stiles says. "Look at you."

"Can't see, there's something in my line of sight," Derek says lazily. He pushes his fingers into Stiles's hair, tugging gently. "Do I need to order you to suck me?"

"Both of us know how well I listen to your orders," Stiles says, but it comes out weak. In his mind's eye, he sees flashes of Derek strutting towards him in full uniform, gun in his holster, hands on his belt, all confidence and strength, and saying with that treacherous smirk, "To serve and protect."

"Stiles." Derek pulls Stiles's head up. He sounds amused, a bit exasperated, like that wasn't the first time he's called Stiles's name. "Whatever fantasy you're just having," Derek continues, "can we postpone it?"

Stiles reaches for Derek, kissing him as soon as he's in range. "It'll keep," he mumbles against Derek's lips.

"It's just a stupid uniform," Derek says, peppering kisses all over Stiles's face.

Stiles whimpers. "But it's _your_ uniform," he says. They talked about this before—the first time Derek had put on his uniform, he hadn't been wearing it for five minutes before Stiles jumped him. "You're my deputy."

"Technically I'm your father's," Derek says. 

"No bringing up my dad when we're having kinky sex."

Derek snorts. "Are we having sex?"

Stiles sighs, exaggeratedly put upon and pushes Derek back. "Well, if you insist."

Sucking Derek's cock is one of Stiles's favourite things. Derek's uncut, and Stiles has been with enough guys to properly appreciate that. Derek's sensitive and Stiles pretty much never gets tired of playing with his foreskin. It's like his own adventure playground, only with more come ending up in his hair. 

Stiles takes Derek in as deep as he can. He'd like to deep-throat, but he's tired and so hard it almost hurts, no way does he have the stamina tonight to work up to deep-throating. But he still gets down far enough that Derek's pants scratch against his face. He grabs Derek's thighs, holding on to the fabric, and closes his eyes. 

They could be at the station, he thinks. He could be sucking Derek off in exchange of being let go—maybe Derek picked him up on a street corner, hauled him in for harassing or paddling or spray-painting, and no one Stiles knows can know about it. Or maybe—

Derek taps his fingers against Stiles's temple. "Get out of your head," he says. "I'm right here."

He is, and Stiles is every so grateful that Derek indulges him like this, lets Stiles come over his uniform, lets Stiles drag him off to dark corners for a quickie, simply because he knows that Stiles has a thing for Derek in uniform. He doesn't get it (it took months until Derek believed that it was only the combination of Derek plus uniform that got Stiles this hot, and that Stiles didn't care for other people wearing any uniform of any kind—wow, that had been a fun conversation), but he still lets Stiles do whatever he wants when Stiles gets that Look in his eyes. Because he loves Stiles and Stiles loves him back and who would've thought they'd last this long?

It makes Stiles pull off again. Derek groans loudly and tries to push Stiles back. "I love you," Stiles says, voice a bit rough already. 

Derek sighs. "I love you, too. C'mere."

Derek pulls him up (yeah, Stiles is never getting over how strong Derek is, and the way his muscles move underneath that shirt is just bonus) and on top of him. He makes short work of Stiles's jeans and then their cocks are touching and it would take an inhuman effort to not grind down against Derek. Stiles is (still, despite several attempts to change it, proudly) human, so he bears down, hard. 

Frottage is awesome and if the way the uniform rubs against sensitive parts of Stiles makes him rut faster? Absolutely no one minds. 

Derek flips them over easily and manages to work a hand between them. "You're infuriating," he says between kisses. "Absolutely," kiss, "mind-blowingly," kiss, "infuriating."

"Thanks," Stiles says. Derek shakes his head, but he's smiling. Then he does that thing with his thumb and Stiles is coming. He hadn't even realised he was that close already, lost in Derek, but his orgasm triggers Derek's own (not a werewolf thing, but definitely a Derek thing). 

Derek slumps down next to him, idly rubbing their come into Stiles's skin. 

"You gonna clean that up later," Stiles says. His eyelids are heavy, his entire body is relaxed and for once he's not even lying in the fucking wet spot, so, really. 

Derek hums. "I might use my tongue," he says with a smirk. Stiles's eyes are closed now, but he knows Derek, knows he's fucking grinning at Stiles in that way that makes people drop things in the supermarket or the deli person forget his order. 

Stiles, for the record, does not give a damn. "Whatever," he says. He more feels than hears Derek huff out a laugh, breath gusting over his face, and Derek presses a kiss against Stiles's cheek, unexpectedly sweet while he's still smearing their combined come all over Stiles's torso, and right now in this very moment Stiles is so content and happy that he thinks he'll burst with it.

"Love ya," Stiles mumbles.

"I know," Derek says.

"Asshole. You're no Han Solo."

"But you love me," Derek says. And then, just before Stiles slips into his—well-deserved, mind you—sleep, there's a quiet whisper, "I love you."

Stiles falls asleep smiling.


End file.
